The Perseverance of the (s)Ain'ts
The Perseverance of the (s)Ain'ts
Ironies and Iterations in "Heretic"
[This article contains spoilers for Heretic, obviously]
When Sister Paxton (Chloe East) first meets Mr. Reed (Hugh Grant), she’s brimming with excitement to share the good news of Mormonism and hopefully baptize her first convert. She zealously rambles through Mormon theological talking points such as reincarnation (“When I come back, I want to be a butterfly. I’ll land on my friends’ hands, so they know it’s me.”). She even contends that apostasy furthers cultural moral decay. But by the end of Heretic, Sister Paxton succumbs to that which she once condemned.
The A24 horror film is yet another product of an increasingly post-religious culture which seems so enthralling and status-quo-disrupting. It contains some of the more thought-provoking religious commentary of recent years. By the end, however, it’s a trite proposition that existential freedom follows nihilistic moral relativism.
A Limited Scope of Religion
Written and directed by Scott Beck and Bryan Woods, Heretic studies two Mormon missionaries trapped by Mr. Reed, a man curious about—but ultimately unconvinced of—world religions. He forces his guests to embark upon a game of cat-and-mouse as spiritually risky as it is physically. The three main characters give standout performances, and the intricacies of the well-crafted script are rewarding. Overall, it’s a good (but not great) film.
Mr. Reed keeps the Sisters in a room designed like an odd hybrid of a church sanctuary and college classroom; the production design impressively depicts his character. Overcoming her sense of panic, Sister Barnes (Sophie Thatcher) attacks Mr. Reed’s (Reddit-level) anti-religious claims by contending that his arguments don’t represent the full spectrum of belief. The two doors through which they must walk to find the house’s supposed exit—with “Belief” and “Disbelief” written on them—are too simplistic and dichotomous, she claims. There are many interesting apologetic points in Heretic, but it ultimately features an ironic assessment of religion. Heretic’s characters—who possess varying degrees of faith—fit themselves into boxes as small as Mr. Reed’s house model. Put simply, there are three personas who (probably) end up without faith: the Mormon convert with a troubled past; the sincere zealot lacking theological knowledge; and the fraud who shares enough hackneyed platitudes to sound tenable, but whose theology amounts to nothing. Thus, while depicting a man trying to broaden the Mormons’ “narrow” worldviews, Heretic is quite limited.
Grant’s charisma in this role is effective, and gives the impression that Mr. Reed’s arguments have merit. But in the end, he’s typical. He did his “research” in college; apparently his conclusions—despite no indication of credibility beyond his own sophist ramblings—are enough to reject objective morality, theism, goodness, and the afterlife. “I’ve decided,” he essentially says, “and that’s somehow more authoritative than Scriptures and scholars.”
Irony in Self-Awareness
An element I feel torn on regarding Heretic is the irony of the story’s unfolding. Mr. Reed spends a great deal of time and energy on “iterations,” claiming that most things in life—from music, to Monopoly, to monotheism—are a rip-off of a rip-off of a rip-off. How can Sisters Barnes and Paxton trust Mormonism when its claims are derivative of Christianity, Islam, and Judaism? He contends that they should not simply believe in something just because they’ve grown up hearing it, or because people they love hold such beliefs.
What’s most disturbing about Heretic is Mr. Reed’s manipulation. After such an impassioned and intelligent-sounding speech challenging their theology, he torments them simply because they believed the things he told them about his wife and the blueberry pie and even their hopes of escape.
Sister Paxton’s climactic realization that “the only true religion is control” explains away Mr. Reed’s ironies and inconsistencies. Perhaps Beck and Woods are displaying a sort of self-awareness in Mr. Reed—a message that with or without religion, we’re all composed of ironies and can’t escape contradicting our own moral and ethical standards. That’s why, when Mr. Reed compares the two doors, his assessment is crushing: enter either the door of Belief wherein resides the God who would “condemn a gay person for the way He made him,” or the door of Disbelief wherein nothing can be salvaged or explained, and the nightmares of this world won’t be quelled.
Heretic, then, is ironically an iteration of common—though ultimately unconvincing—theological and philosophical beliefs.
Who’s the Heretic?
In some multiverse sitcom world, an entire episode of Community could be dedicated to answering the question, “Who’s the heretic?” in Heretic? The answer is as muddled and disappointing as the film’s climactic moments: everyone.
After Sister Barnes’s death, Sister Paxton takes up the mantle of intelligence and resists Mr. Reed’s games. She learns the grim truth that Mr. Reed is just a narcissistic kidnapper, and fights her way out. No more intellectual games; just drawing blood. As she tries to escape the labyrinthine house, she’s stabbed by a Mr. Reed who can somehow climb stairs and talk despite a knife-wound in his neck. They end up in the same dungeon-like room where Sister Barnes died.
“Pray for us,” Mr. Reed begs while bleeding out.
With all of Sister Paxton’s zeal diminished, she responds, “prayer doesn’t work.” We like to think that there’s a God who can hear us and answer us, but we have no such influence, she claims. The night has torn her asunder, both physically and spiritually. Then, in another show of irony, she prays.
Heretic presents Mr. Reed, who searched religion and found nothing, as somehow justifiable and agreeable; most viewers today would probably resonate more with the killer than the Mormon missionaries—until his beliefs justify the killing. It also presents the truly “religious” people as most virtuous, intelligent, and worthy of saving (from Mr. Reed) when they are not devout—when they forsake religion.
I’m a Protestant Christian, so I have no interest in defending Mormonism proper. But this film projects the belief that the best and most tolerable content on religious persons involves their effective denial of all they once believed. Only then are all the non-religious people are invested, then religion as a film’s focal point actually works.
It is hilariously ironic, however, that the killer claims religion is just an anti-Gay, war-mongering game of control. “The only true religion is control, and since the religious do it, I may as well do the same thing.” Nihilistic moral relativism is quite depressing and existentially unjustifiable. That everyone falls away and there’s no perseverance of faith in this film isn’t profound, but rather dull and unrealistic. To echo a certain animated supervillain, when everyone’s a heretic, no one will be.
(At one point while writing this, I had a realization: “Is this the most covertly pro-religion film?” I mean, who would you side with?)
Perseverance of the (s)Ain’ts
In true A24 fashion, à la Saint Maud’s bleak ending, Beck and Woods’s film ends with Sister Paxton’s exposure to “reality.” As she crawls out of the dim dungeon she’s inhabited for too long, she trades shadows for snow-covered woods. The sun is shining. Lush, green plants protrude from the cold ground.
Her gaze lowers to her bloodied hands and torn clothes; she sees a butterfly land on her finger. She blinks, and it disappears.
As I left the theater, I was quite conflicted about the film. I knew one thing: the ending depressed me. If there are any feelings of goodness or justice or freedom in the final moments of Heretic, they only come after dismantling the potency of religion, elevating moral ambiguity, and showing us that a religion-free world would be just as evil as one with religion. The final statement, that a life without God is okay, is actually hopeless.
Despite what Heretic may have us believe, it is better to be united with Christ—even in the midst of heinous tragedy, evil, and suffering—than to be truly alone. We mustn’t accept Mr. Reed’s dark dichotomy between a hateful God and a godless, hopeless world. There is a good God who is truly in control; who cares for His creation; who loves us, even to the point of death; who will bring justice to all evil and save those in Him.
I don’t expect strong theology or a good representation of religious persons when I watch films of this caliber and popularity, but Heretic is a reminder that there is no hope outside of Jesus Christ. What is our only comfort in life and in death? “That we are not our own, but belong with body and soul, both in life and in death, to our faithful Savior Jesus Christ.” He will see us through.